


Collide

by midnightfictions



Category: Quindom - Fandom, Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, quincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightfictions/pseuds/midnightfictions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the enemy you've known becomes the love you don't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collide

_"These soon memories, they collide right here. Through the years beneath you, but I shall read these stories clear."_

_\- Two Stories_

* * *

 

The loud knocks against the wall and the drawn out, breathy moans indicated that Sara was awake… unsurprisingly. I groan and roll over to take a look at the clock: 10:26 AM. Even on a Saturday I wasn't afforded the luxury of sleeping until noon. I smother my face in my pillow and contemplate going to Sara's room to drag her from her escapades and beat the life out of her, but given that I was already serving one sentence for blacking her eye last week, I reconsidered. Instead I begrudgingly make myself get up and throw on a pair of gray sweatpants and my Crescent Heights High hockey hoodie. Leaving my room meant risking the chances of bumping into either Sara or her "friend" if they decided to take a 15 minute break for re-hydration, so I might as well look halfway presentable.

The noises intensify as I open my door and make my way past her room. I scoff as I hear the mystery female's voice refer to Sara as 'God' and roll my eyes in the direction of her bedroom door. Jeez, who even was it this time? Katina? Rachel? Emy? Sara with an H? Our parents were not strict by any means, but I still found myself dumbfounded at the way Sara could walk around our house as the poster child for promiscuity and never get caught. In-fucking-credible.

I step into the kitchen and open up the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and pouring myself a glass. If I had to be out of bed involuntarily, then I might as well try to enjoy it. Leaning against the counter, I take my first sip of juice and look around, taking in how the mid-morning sun leaks in through the kitchen window and reflects off of the counter tops. It illuminates the room in peaceful, upbeat vibes – the type of vibes I wish I had awakened to. I spot a note on the island in the middle of the kitchen and notice that there's a $20 bill hanging out of it. Mom must have left pizza money. I reach over and grab it, taking a second to scan the letter and pocket the cash. There's no way I'm telling Sara mom left any money at all. If Sara had beaten me to finding it, we wouldn't have seen the first slice of pizza. Sara would have gotten this money to her dealer with the first chance she got, buying however much weed, LSD, or ecstasy she could get her hands on. In fact, I would go double or nothing and bet this $20 that Sara and her mistress were high right now, still enjoying the waves of whatever they ingested before sneaking into our house at whatever hour of the night.

Ugh.

I mean, sure, I like to party and have a good time too, but I also have priorities. With hockey season starting in a month, I can't risk failing a random drug test just because I got in the mood to smoke a joint at a house party on the weekend. That was Sara's problem- she didn't have priorities. Where I knew when to quit she was just getting started. Where I knew how to say no, she only knew how to say yes. Complete and total opposites. It's hard to believe we split from the same egg sometimes.

I reach back into the fridge for the OJ, and as if on cue, my stomach growls. The hockey player's appetite. I think the only time I'm ever not hungry is when I'm sleeping. I refill my glass and grab a blueberry bagel, placing it in the toaster before I rummage through the cabinets looking for my secret stash of Nutella. Nutella, the devil's peanut butter, and my worst habit to date. I have to keep it hidden behind all of the spices mom keeps in the cabinet above the stove, or else Sara will have her grubby paws all over it.

Speaking of which, the guest of the hour makes her appearance as I place my now toasted bagel onto a plate. Or at least, I think it's Sara.

"Hey" I greet monotonously without looking up from my task of spreading Nutella on both halves of my bagel. I could really careless about making conversation with my sister at the moment, but at least I can try to preserve the peace.

"Oh, uh, Heeyyy Tee" a familiar yet unexpected voice greets me back, and I feel a heavy realization settle it's burden on top of my heart before I look up to confirm my worst fears.

Placing the butter knife I was using to prepare my brunch with on my plate, I take a deep breath and look towards the source of the voice. Yep. "Oh, h-h-hey, LB. How are you?" my voice breaks as I respond, and I can feel the irrational hurt seep into every pore of my body, where it drains into my bloodstream and consumes me. Lindsey Byrnes was someone who I had been preoccupied with for a while, and here she stood, in my house, in my kitchen… after fucking my sister.

Fuck.

"Good! Just, you know, staying busy and enjoying the last of Summer before school starts. How's your Summer been? Sara said you went to Vancouver to train for a week, how did that go? This season should be a kickass one for you, yeah?" her genuine interest in me and my hockey career derails the impact of emotions I just walked into, and forces me to smile when I want to retreat. Faintly I hear the sound of footsteps creeping down the hallway, and I know I have to make Lindsey's and I exchange as short as possible. I didn't want to be impolite, but I also didn't want to chance having Lindsey see me kill my sibling in a crime of passion.

"Yeah! Yeah, I did. I went out to UBC for their mini-camp. It was fun, I learned a lot. I think it's really going to ma-" my words falter as Sara snakes her arms around Lindsey's waist and places her head on her shoulder. I watch her as she watches me, her left eye carrying the remnants of a right hook that caught her on the eyebrow and cut her cheek open. It was a pretty good punch, even if mom didn't think so. She smirks, and I feel the anger in my veins boil up to my ears when she places a kiss under Lindsey's ear. I want to fucking kill her.

"Hi Tegan" the seemingly innocent hello is coated in sarcasm and venom, meant to shoot straight into the parts of me that want to explode like a bomb. For a second I consider beating the shit out of her right in front of Lindsey, but then I remember I have no reason to be upset. At least, I'm not supposed to have one. It's not supposed to bother me that Sara's fucking a girl, and I'm most definitely not supposed to be jealous that she's fucking a certain girl. But she knows that I'm bothered by it all, and I can tell by the way she looks at me with that mischievous see-right-through-you stare. She's determined to burrow herself right under my skin and onto my nerves.

I hate her.

And I would make sure her right eye matched her left if Lindsey Goddamn Byrnes wasn't standing in my kitchen.

But she is. So I won't.

"Hey Sar!" I greet her too happily, too cheery. She knows I'm being a total smartass, but to our guest, it seems like I'm genuinely happy. I put on a big grin and go back to finishing the Nutella spread on my bagel, tossing the knife in the sink and grabbing a paper towel before gathering my cup and plate. That was the good thing about this dysfunctional system of operating we had adapted. At school, we had one class together, and lunch, but we weren't required to have anything to do with each other. Everyone could go about their day believing we really loved and cared about one another. At home, things were a different story. If we weren't throwing each other down the stairs and sprouting profanities, we were thinking about it. Because school hadn't yet started, nobody but our friends had seen the shiner on Sara's eye. They were the only ones that knew how dual-faceted our relationship is. If Sara went to school with her face looking like she had been mugged, our cover would have been most certainly blown. The last thing I need as the school's hockey star was to get a reputation for throwing fisticuffs with my twin outside of school. Yikes.

I ignore Sara's glare and direct my attention back to Lindsey, returning to our previous conversation, "Yeah, so I think it's going to be a really good season! I can't wait to show off the stuff I learned." For good measure, I finish my sentence by winking at her and am rewarded with a bright smile and a chuckle. I'd love to get lost in those emerald tinted hazel eyes, but I know if I spend any more time in the presence of Sara I'll be likely to commit a felony.

"Later, LB! …Sara" I give Lindsey a warm smile and let my gaze scream "fuck you" as I look at Sara. I make my way back to my bedroom, closing the door and starting up my laptop as I sit down at my computer desk. Being grounded meant I couldn't do much but hang out at the house all day, and with Sara running her red light district down the hall, that meant I was pretty much reduced to spending my day in my room. Fine by me, honestly. The less chances of interaction with Sara, the better. It also gave me a chance to work on some plays for the upcoming season, and get a chance to look at tape of all of the incoming freshman players.

Hockey is, with no exaggeration, my life. I've been skating since before I could walk, and scoring goals before I could talk. It's probably the only thing Sara and I actually agree on. I could beat her into damn near unconsciousness an hour before the game, and still spot her in the stands cheering me on when the puck was dropped. I think the only person who was a bigger fan of mine than mom was Sara. I'm not sure what that says about her, or us, but there was comfort in knowing we still shared a bond through something.

Once my laptop gets booted up, I turn on my Bose computer speakers and crank up Knox Hamilton's new EP. I munch on my bagel and sip my OJ while browsing the web, reading all of the run-of-the-mill facebook status updates and scrolling through tumblr when I remember I haven't checked my phone all day.

"Fuck!" I scurry across my room to where my bedside table is, dodging stray hockey gear and piles of dirty laundry on the way. Yanking it off the charger I unlock the screen to see I've only missed two text notifications. Of course.

The first text is from mom letting me know she left money for food and asking me to make sure Sara "gets out of bed at some point during the day". She also mentioned me cleaning my room. Yeah, sure mom.

The second text is from Stacy, the captain of the cheerleading squad. The cheerleaders were responsible for showing up to all of the basketball, football, and hockey games at our school, even for the girl's teams. Stacy and I had grown to become good friends over the years, seeing as her brother played both basketball and hockey and we found ourselves practicing together a lot. She typically came over to discuss what types of routines the cheerleaders had planned for the intermissions at games, and to kill time while her brother and I ran drills together. She was pretty awesome.

And Sara had a major thing for her.

Which was fucking brilliant for me in the worst way.

Stacy WAS gorgeous. There's no doubt about that. She stood just a couple inches taller than my 5 ft 2 stature, was lean and athletic, had recently bleached shoulder length blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She was an honor student who had the top of the class position locked down, and had an award-winning sense of humour. I mean, I couldn't really blame Sara – Stacy was the total package. The problem for Sara was that Stacy was dating our student council president James, and was under the impression that Stacy was straight. It's not like it's ever stopped Sara before, but it did complicate her Romeo charm tactics.

The great thing about being best friends with Stacy was that I was the only one who knew Stacy played for both teams… and it's much more obvious when Stacy's drunk.

So when I responded to her text asking if she could come stay the night, I told her she could under one stipulation – bring some liquor with her.

If Sara could play dirty, so could I.


End file.
